Unexpected Friend
by ThePony
Summary: Deidara returns to Iwagakure after some years, only to find that something is going on in his old house. Do you remember the song 'Poor Thing' from Sweeney Todd? This is lightly based on it.


The door was closed neatly, which made Deidara raise a brow. It was long ago that he had left, or at least it felt like decades. Hell, it could have been centuries. However, the door slid open without a sound as he gave it a push. Glancing around from under his hat he made sure no one saw him enter and closed the door after him.

Everything was almost as he had left it. The same furniture, the same smell of gunpowder that had stuck since his early experiments, the same general feeling. What was new were the paintings on the wall. They were all of same subject: bright colours, mostly red and orange and yellow, all mixed together in delightful combinations. He recognised most of them. He remembered almost all the explosions he had made, and at least some of these were without any doubt his.

There was a quiet creak behind him, when someone stepped on a loose floorboard. Deidara remained motionless, pretending he didn't hear anything. The hat and the cloak would prevent anyone from knowing his identity and now that he knew about the other one's presence, the surprise was on his side.

"What are you doing here?" a stern voice asked.

Deidara turned his head slightly to peer at the peace breaker. A girl, maybe 20 years old, was looking at him with narrowed eyes. Her hair wasn't of any particular shade, just a generic brown. She wore simple clothes and obviously wasn't a ninja, judging by the lack of headband and the way she had given herself away so easily. She seemed suspicious of him and scanned his appearance, or what was visible of it.

"Beautiful paintings," Deidara said, turning to look back at the colourful splashes in front of him. Keeping the speech impediment at bay was hard, but he couldn't risk being identified.

"Yes," she muttered, relaxing.

"Who did them?" he asked.

"I did."

"They're magnificent. But who would want to paint explosions?"

She had come to stand next to him, and turned now from the artworks to glare at him.

"I would. And of course the real ones were a hundred times more beautiful. These are merely reminders. And memorials."

Deidara looked at her, amazed. Memorials? In his house, of his works? She was looking at her pieces again, a sad smile on her lips. But even though her face was melancholy, in her eyes there burned passion.

"Memorials?" he questioned quietly.

"There was an artist, you see," she said without removing her gaze from the motionless dance of sparkles. "He lived here. And he was a true artist. He understood what he was doing, he lived it. In a way he was art himself. He was beautiful. He said art shouldn't last. He was right. But people here didn't understand his gift." She had started frowning while speaking. "People didn't see the honour in him making art of their houses. Thousands of sparks, then flames, and finally there are beautiful memories. But he had to go, they were after him. _Heathens_."

They way she spit the last word made shivers run down Deidara's spine. This was something unusual. She must have known him when he had still resided here in Iwagakure. But he didn't remember her at all.

"I wish I could have gone with him when he left," she sighed. "But I didn't know where he went. Instead I claimed this house. I moved here, to keep it in good condition. Silly, isn't it?"

Deidara made no answer, but she wasn't expecting any. Instead she giggled.

"For a while I thought he would come back one day," she went on. "Foolish, I know. Why would he return to a place where there was only disrespect and idiocy?"

'Yes, why indeed,' Deidara thought bitterly.

"But I'm going to avenge him."

He turned to look at her again and was surprised by what met his eye. Her eyes held a maniacal glint in them and an insane grin adorned her lips.

"It'll be a tribute to him. I'm going to take these pictures into the Mizukage's office and burn them. The whole Kage building will be ablaze. Fire everywhere. The council dying. Red and yellow and orange and a hint of white, just like in his perfect works. And nothing will remain. All just a memory." When she laughed there was no softness in it. It was cold and harsh, and Deidara couldn't help but smile.

"Telling your plan to just anyone is foolish, un," he said.

The girl froze and turned to look at him, eyes wide open and shocked. He removed his hat to reveal his blue eye and recognisable blonde hair to his admirer.

"Deidara-san," she whispered. He smirked at her.

"Now about that plan of yours, yeah," he said and was in his mind grateful he had forced his habit off his speech for a while. Hr face was absolutely priceless. "When is it going to roll, hmm?"

"I-I have everything ready, Deidara-san," she mumbled, more focused on scrutinising his face than speaking. "I have the rest of the paintings upstairs, and oil."

"Excellent. Let's get this baby on the road, yeah!"

Two hours later the whole Iwagakure was in panic, as the Kage building flamed and the other houses next to it started to catch fire. In the corners of the village and near the gates explosions went off when people tried to escape or find shelter. In forty more minutes all of the village would be burning, and it wouldn't stop until next day.

Two figures watched it from above, high enough not to suffer from the smoke and the toxic fumes it created. The clay bird supported two riders: A blonde male who was smirking in a way that spoke of satisfaction, and a brunette female who shrieked in mad laughter. After there was barely anything moving in the ruins underneath them, the bird took course to east.

"What's your name, un?" the male asked the woman, who had been looking back at the burning village but turned to him at his question.

"Akemi," she answered, grinning.

"Well, that was a bang, Akemi-chan, yeah!" Deidara laughed. "We should do this another time, hmm?"

"That'd be nice, Deidara-_kun_," she giggled. He turned back forwards, and couldn't help but smile as a pair of arms wrapped tightly around his midriff.


End file.
